dropped out over a year ago. When I was suffering from terminal hypocrisy.
The entry ended there. I turned the page. On it was pasted a brief newspaper article. It wasn’t dated or identified, but I was pretty sure it was from Mom’s local paper. It was about a peace mach that Mom had staged on her high school campus. It was very brief (the article, I mean), but Mom’s name was the only one mentioned, and it was clear that the march had been her idea and had been carried out by her.
I was puzzled. I still didn’t understand what was going on between Mom and her parents. I almost carried the journal downstairs to ask Dad about it but decided I was enjoying this private process of discovering my mother.
I read through the entire summer that followed, the summer between Mom’s junior and senior years in high school. Things at her home were not simple and happy. But then, I knew that the early seventies were not simple and happy. They were a time for questioning and redefining and protesting and standing up for what you believed in. It sounded as though that was just what Mom had done back then. It also sounded as though her parents wished she hadn’t. It ALSO
sounded as though Morgan wished Mom hadn’t. Or was Morgan jealous of Mom? Did Morgan
wish she too could stand up for her beliefs — but she was afraid to stand up to her parents first?
This was fascinating.
I read on until I got to Mom’s high school graduation. I wasn’t the least bit curious about her hopes and dreams, her fears and worries on that day. What I wanted to know was what was going on in her family. I knew Mom had chosen to attend UCLA, and now I had a funny feeling that was entirely her choice, something her parents had not wanted.
Boy, was I right. Mom’s parents had wanted her to go to Townsend, some teeny, tiny
conservative college in northern California, the college Mom’s mother had gone to. It sounded more like a finishing school to me. Mom would have none of it, of course. She wanted to go to a big university where she could study whatever she wanted and meet all different kinds of people.
In the end, Mom had won. But she paid a big price for it. Her parents hadn’t attended her high school graduation. Nor had they helped pay her tuition at UCLA. Meanwhile, Aunt Morgan was busy being the good girl — for awhile [sic]. She had gone to Townsend but only for two years.
Then she took herself as far from California as she could get without leaving the United States, and got her degree at New York University. For years she wasn’t in touch with the rest of her family — with her parents because she found them as smothering as Mom did, and with Mom
because, well, I wasn’t sure why. Just because they lived so far apart? Or because she resented that Mom had been able to stand up to their parents long before her big sister was able to?
So Mom had to put herself through UCLA (which wasn’t easy, but she was determined), and that was where she had met Dad. Eventually they had gotten married — and her parents had not attended the wedding. But now Aunt Morgan came back into the picture. Mom wrote her and asked if she’d like to come to California for the wedding.
“I know it’s a long trip,” she had written in her journal, recording her conversation with her sister, “but it would mean a lot to me if you could be with me on that day. If you don’t want to come, though, I’ll understand.”
Guess what Aunt Morgan had replied. She had sent Mom a telegram (who ever thought to send a telegram?) saying, “If I’m going to come all that way, you’d better let me be your maid of honor.”
And that was exactly what Mom had done.
This was how Mom and Aunt Morgan had become part of each other’s lives again. They had
stayed in touch ever since, although they were two very different people.
Aunt Morgan’s next trip to California had been to see me when I was born. But before that, something else took place. Something huge.
The entry ended there. I turned the page. On it was pasted a brief newspaper article. It wasn’t dated or identified, but I was pretty sure it was from Mom’s local paper. It was about a peace mach that Mom had staged on her high school campus. It was very brief (the article, I mean), but Mom’s name was the only one mentioned, and it was clear that the march had been her idea and had been carried out by her.
I was puzzled. I still didn’t understand what was going on between Mom and her parents. I almost carried the journal downstairs to ask Dad about it but decided I was enjoying this private process of discovering my mother.
I read through the entire summer that followed, the summer between Mom’s junior and senior years in high school. Things at her home were not simple and happy. But then, I knew that the early seventies were not simple and happy. They were a time for questioning and redefining and protesting and standing up for what you believed in. It sounded as though that was just what Mom had done back then. It also sounded as though her parents wished she hadn’t. It ALSO
sounded as though Morgan wished Mom hadn’t. Or was Morgan jealous of Mom? Did Morgan
wish she too could stand up for her beliefs — but she was afraid to stand up to her parents first?
This was fascinating.
I read on until I got to Mom’s high school graduation. I wasn’t the least bit curious about her hopes and dreams, her fears and worries on that day. What I wanted to know was what was going on in her family. I knew Mom had chosen to attend UCLA, and now I had a funny feeling that was entirely her choice, something her parents had not wanted.
Boy, was I right. Mom’s parents had wanted her to go to Townsend, some teeny, tiny
conservative college in northern California, the college Mom’s mother had gone to. It sounded more like a finishing school to me. Mom would have none of it, of course. She wanted to go to a big university where she could study whatever she wanted and meet all different kinds of people.
In the end, Mom had won. But she paid a big price for it. Her parents hadn’t attended her high school graduation. Nor had they helped pay her tuition at UCLA. Meanwhile, Aunt Morgan was busy being the good girl — for awhile [sic]. She had gone to Townsend but only for two years.
Then she took herself as far from California as she could get without leaving the United States, and got her degree at New York University. For years she wasn’t in touch with the rest of her family — with her parents because she found them as smothering as Mom did, and with Mom
because, well, I wasn’t sure why. Just because they lived so far apart? Or because she resented that Mom had been able to stand up to their parents long before her big sister was able to?
So Mom had to put herself through UCLA (which wasn’t easy, but she was determined), and that was where she had met Dad. Eventually they had gotten married — and her parents had not attended the wedding. But now Aunt Morgan came back into the picture. Mom wrote her and asked if she’d like to come to California for the wedding.
“I know it’s a long trip,” she had written in her journal, recording her conversation with her sister, “but it would mean a lot to me if you could be with me on that day. If you don’t want to come, though, I’ll understand.”
Guess what Aunt Morgan had replied. She had sent Mom a telegram (who ever thought to send a telegram?) saying, “If I’m going to come all that way, you’d better let me be your maid of honor.”
And that was exactly what Mom had done.
This was how Mom and Aunt Morgan had become part of each other’s lives again. They had
stayed in touch ever since, although they were two very different people.
Aunt Morgan’s next trip to California had been to see me when I was born. But before that, something else took place. Something huge.
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